


Title Track

by orphan_account



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Band Fic, Lung Cancer, Multi, Post-Break Up, Underage Sex, band au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:29:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2636369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Luke is a musician, Percy just wants to make fish documentaries forever, and between lung cancer, hiding from the press, five years, and poor communications skills, they try their hand at this thing called a “relationship.”</p><p>*</p><p>or, luke writes sappy songs and percy thinks he has to be alone</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you're the finest thing that i've done (hurricane i'll never outrun)

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about the music industry, the extent of my knowledge comes from a glorious Teen Wolf band au (the same that also sort of inspired/motivated me to write this fic) called Play Crack the Sky which I would link if I fully understood how computers work. If you’re into Teen Wolf, you should totally read it, because I have literally never read a better au. If you have not seen Teen Wolf, shh, it’s okay, read it anyways. It holds its own as a standalone novel.

**May 21 st, 2016**

The set smells like some kind of flowers, the scent thick and heady, and Luke would rather be anywhere but here, smiling for the camera and pretending like he doesn’t hate every fucking thing about this.

“So,” Aphy whatever is saying, almost leering at him, and Luke has no qualms about admitting—off-camera, of course—that she’s always creeped him out, even before Annabeth told him in that no-nonsense, no-bullshit way of hers that Luke was doing the interview whether he liked it or not. “There’s a lot of talk about the new album, Hurricane, which is set to be released this June.Can you elaborate on the title for us?”

Luke knows the answer inside and out, because Annabeth drilled it into him with threats of bodily harm. He can’t outright say _I fell in love with this asshole a few years ago, and he wiped away everything I ever loved and made it all seem so pointless, just like a hurricane, so the song_ Hurricane _is about him and now it’s also the title of the album_ , so he says, “Well, the album is supposed to be about things that are all-consuming, like a hurricane. Love, hatred, anger, depression… Things that warp your senses and drown out everything else.”

Aphy nods, pleased with his answer, and says, “The title track, _Hurricane_ , debuted as the second single from the album this week, following the release of _Cruise Ship Lovers (Andromeda)_ , which debuted two weeks ago as the first single. Rumor has it that _Hurricane_ is about an illicit relationship you had with someone a lot younger than you, because of the lyrics ‘picking you up after school on weekdays,’ ‘scrubbing ink stains off of the back of your hand so you can drink with me and the rest of the band,’ and, of course, ‘I’m writing music, you’re writing a term paper.’ What grounds do these rumors hold?”

Luke grimaces, because he _hates_ that question with a burning passion, and when Annabeth told him it was going to be on the list, she’d just given him a withering look and said, “You do not need a lawsuit, Castellan. As far as the press is concerned, _she_ was legal, okay?”

When Luke muttered, “ _He_ waslegal, technically. In New York,” she’d smacked him with her clipboard.

Now, flashing Aphy his most winning smile, like he’s not scruffy from a couple days without shaving or hungover from another late night out with Thalia, he says, “Well, I mean, obviously she was under twenty-one, and I wasn’t.” He tries not to gag on the pronoun, and he’s pretty sure he succeeds.

She laughs. “But the rumors about her being a high school student?” she prompts.

“She was legal,” Luke hedges, searching for the right words, “and everything was totally consensual. And we were in love, and it was a long time ago, and she hurt me really badly, blah, blah, blah. Story of the ages, right?”

Sometimes, Luke thinks everything would be easier if he wasn’t “in the closet.” If everyone knew _Hurricane_ was about another guy, he doubted they’d be so concerned about how young the subject of the song was.

“Well,” Aphy is saying, “I’m certainly a sucker for a good, tragic love story, myself. Are any of the other songs on Hurricaneabout this relationship?”

Luke snorts, shaking his head. “I’m afraid not. Like I said, it was a long time ago. But most of Achilles Heel was written about her, so.”

Aphy’s eyes gleam when she says, “So why are you writing about it again now, almost four years later?”

And isn’t _that_ the question of the ages.

“Um,” Luke says, and forces a laugh, hoping he doesn’t sound too strained. “She showed up on my doorstep about eight months ago, out of the blue. To talk about what happened between us, since we never got a chance before. It opened up some old wounds, made me revisit all of my feelings for her. When I wrote the song _Hurricane_ , that was my way of writing out all of the feelings I had, to try and put them behind me once and for all.”

Aphy nods sagely. “Did it work?”

“I guess we’ll see,” Luke says, and throws in another chuckle for good measure.

 _Bullshit_ , he’s thinking. _I’m never going to be able to write Percy Jackson out of my system_.

 

**November 11 th, 2016**

Despite common belief, Luke actually _likes_ being on tour. He likes being close to the crowd, letting their energy reverberate back at him, likes being right there in the moment with thousands of people who all like music just as much as he does. Before his career really took off, he spent hundreds of dollar every year going to every concert in his area, be it opera or alt rock or bubblegum pop. Luke just likes being surrounded by so much energy.

Right now, Luke is waiting off to the side of the stage, unable to help the grin that stretches over his features as he watches Silena walk the stage, idly wondering how she manages to keep from tripping in heels that high.

“Come on, Bossier!” she’s shouting, her voice a raw purr, and the crowd is into it, screaming back at her. “Show us that you want it!”

Even from his perch in the wings, Luke can make out Ethan’s eye roll, back on the drums. The band consists of Ethan, Alabaster, Chris, and Silena, but it’s clear that Silena _owns_ the band—it’s called Silena and the Traitors, for god’s sake. The others can roll their eyes and mock her all they want, but in the end, it’s her band, and Silena does what she wants.

“ _Alright_ , Bossier City!” Silena says into the mic, beaming at them. “Let’s amp it up for this next song! You guys all know _Big House Anthem_ , right?”

That sends the crowd into another round of raucous cheering, and Luke adjusts his earpiece, rolls his shoulders, prepares himself.

“Well,” Silena is saying, “unfortunately, The Party Ponies couldn’t be here tonight to play the song with us. So one of my oldest friends is going to help us out instead. Is that alright?”

The crowd screams louder in anticipation, and Silena laughs. “Alright, guys, give it up for Luke Castellan, yeah?”

And Luke makes his way out onto the stage, beaming, as the crowd loses its shit.

“How’re you doing tonight, Luke?” Silena asks, looking over at him as he joins her at the front of the stage.

“Oh, just great,” Luke says, a lecherous grin twisting the corners of his lips, and he raises his voice to be heard over the roar of the crowd. “But I’m pretty sure someone put vodka in my water bottle. You know anything about that?”

In his ear piece, he can hear Connor and Travis bursting into laughter, and Luke makes a mental note to get them back _so hard_ as soon as he can.

“Can’t say I do,” Silena purrs, all sultry confidence and mile long legs. She tosses her dark hair over her shoulder in a wave, leaning towards Luke, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready for this, honey? Or should we give you a breather to sober up?”

The crowd laughs, and Luke gives Silena a self-assured smile. “I think I’m good. No tripping me this time, okay?”

Silena actually _blushes_ , exclaiming, “That was _one time, Luke, let it go_!” and on keyboard, Chris idly plays the chorus of _Let It Go_ , which sends the crowd into a frenzy as they belt out the lyrics, and Luke can’t stop his grin, because a crowd at an alt-rock concert is singing along to a song from a Disney movie, and Luke never wants to give this up.

If Luke hadn’t spit out the vodka-water mixture he’d tasted in his water bottle, he’d say he actually was a little bit buzzed. As it is, he’s just a little bit stage-drunk, enthralled by the energy and the presence and the throbbing baseline.

Back in high school, Silena and Luke had actually tried to be in a band together. According to Thalia, their band didn’t work out because they both have this thing called “lead-singer-complex,” which meant that they both wanted to be the Adam Levine of their garage band. She’s probably right, but a large part of the break up of their band is due to the fact that they have completely different music styles, Silena tending towards loud, poppy, “druggy music,” and Luke opting for low, acoustic melodies. But for all their differences, they can put together a performance for one song pretty well.

It’s after Silena and the rest of the band exit the stage that Luke takes his place, praising Silena and the Traitors shamelessly, before playing one of the songs from his first album, Achilles Heel. He wrote _Cabin Fever_ when whatever he had with Percy was still just casual sex, before any emotions were involved, when they were still just fucking like rabbits when they saw each other, neither explicitly seeking the other out. After _Cabin Fever_ , Luke plays the third single from Hurricane, _To Storm or Fire_ , which was released to radio stations in late June, after the album came out.

Then he settles down onto a stool, trading his guitar for a piano, and plays a few idle chords while he waits for Connor to give him the go-ahead through his headset, while the other stage hands get the lighting set up for this particular song.

“I wrote this song about a girl I liked, a lot,” Luke says, stalling, and he doesn’t even hesitate around the pronoun anymore. Annabeth would be proud, he thinks, but Percy would hate it. Would probably call Luke a coward for lying about the gender of his ex just for publicity, would say that Luke is just another sell-out in the business. He’d probably ask if Luke was ashamed of what they had, because god knows, the first time Luke played a song he’d written for Percy at a gig and changed a couple “he’s” to “she’s,” Percy hadn’t spoken to him for three hours. (Which was as long as Percy ever made it, before Luke coaxed him back into conversation with gentle kisses and the promise that the pronouns meant nothing to him, because he’d love Percy no matter what gender he was.)

Luke almost feels like changing all his pronouns is some form of petty revenge on Percy for leaving like he did, and he tries not to sound too spiteful as he says, “She always used to tell me I was a romantic, which was funny, because she was the one who had seen The Notebook forty-nine times, and cried every single time.” He laughs, and so does the audience, which makes him relax, just a little bit. He can’t ever relax fully when he talks about Percy.

“So, I guess I feel a little silly for writing all these songs about her now,” he continues, and then Connor’s talking in his ear, telling him that they’re almost ready for him to start, and can you not with the sob story, please. “I mean, there were _so many_ of them.” He laughs. “There’s been at least one on every album, you know? And don’t even get me started on the ones that didn’t make it to the album.”

This time, the audience laughs, too, and Luke plucks out a quick, crude melody and half-sings, half-laughs, “ _I broke my favorite photograph of you after you broke my heart in two_.”

The audience loses it, laughter flooding towards Luke in roars, and Connor groans in his ear. “Oh my god, Luke,” Travis whines, “shut up about the goddamn songs. No one cares that some girl broke your heart.”

Luke studiously ignores him. “Yeah, see? Totally album worthy. Unfortunately, my manager didn’t see it that way.”

More laughter from the audience, and Luke thinks about Annabeth wrapping her arms around his neck and beaming and telling him that he has great stage presence, compares it to the image of her standing with her arms folded over her chest, lips pursed into a frown, telling him that she wasn’t going to hang around him if he didn’t get his act together and sober up.

“Alright, asshat, you can sing your stupid heartbreak song,” Connor grumbles into his ear, and Luke bites his lip to avoid grinning.

“Well,” he says, “I guess I’ll have to play one of the songs that _did_ make it onto an album. Here’s _Hurricane_.”


	2. somewhere in neverland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s not an answer,” Annabeth says, her voice soft, considering. “Why do you write about Neverland so often, Luke?”
> 
> Luke thinks he needs to be a little bit drunker for this conversation, but he sets his beer bottle down on the floor and meets Annabeth’s gaze. “Because five years ago, I met this asshole who helped me change lyrics I wrote when I was drunk from a Lost reference to a Peter Pan reference. And then later, when I started dating this asshole, Neverland became our ‘okay,’ like in The Fault in Our Stars.”

**December 4 th, 2011**

Luke is glaring at the lyrics hastily scribbled on the back of the napkin and wondering what the _hell_ drunk him was thinking when the bell over the café doors starts dinging, signifying that a customer has entered.

Thalia rests her chin on his shoulder and reads, her voice lilted with restrained laughter, “ _Let’s get lost like J.J. Abrams, you can crash my plane any day_.”

Luke groans, shaking his head. “I don’t even know, okay?”

“It doesn’t even _rhyme_ ,” Thalia mocks. She giggles into his shoulder, winding her arms around his waist and pressing her face into the back of his neck. Her words are muffled as she says, “I mean, no one has written any _good_ songs referencing Lost since Moneen did _Don’t Ever Tell Locke What He Can’t Do_ , but, hey. At least you’re trying.”

Luke scowls and shoves her off of him as she dissolves into fits of laughter.

“You know, making a Lost Boy reference would be easier than trying to make it a Lost thing,” an unfamiliar voice interrupts, and Luke looks up to see the customer—messy, unkempt black hair, matted down on one side and sticking up on the other, dark bags under sea green eyes, cheeks flushed from the cold, lips pouty and red—hovering in front of the counter, head tilted to the side, looking down at the lyrics Luke had scrawled on the crumpled napkin in some bar last night.

“Lost Boy?” Luke asks curiously.        

The boy nods. “Yeah. Like in Peter Pan? You could totally write, _let’s get lost in Neverland_ , or something like that. I don’t know. I’m not good with poetry, or lyrics, or whatever it is you’re—I’m not a writer, like, at all. I mean, I’m failing my English class. My mom is a published author, though, so.” He gives a jerky shrug. “Um, anyways. Sorry for eavesdropping?”

Luke shrugs, snatching one of the pens off of the counter and scrawling the new lyrics onto the napkin before he forgets them. _Let’s get lost in Neverland, take a deep breath, then take my hand_. He hesitates, then adds, _Never wanted to grow up, but I wouldn’t mind growing old with you_.

“Still doesn’t rhyme,” Thalia mutters, still reading over his shoulder. Luke elbows her, not as gently as he probably should, and she jerks away, rubbing her ribs and glaring at him. Then Luke slides the napkin back across the counter, folding his arms over his chest, arching a brow, awaiting the customer’s opinion.

Pouty red lips curl into a smile, and the boy says, “See, _that’s_ a song I’d listen to.”

Luke grins. “I’m Luke,” he says, offering his hand. As the boy shakes it, he pushes the napkin back across the counter with his other hand, and Luke shoves it into his back pocket for later.

“Percy,” the boy says. “I—”

He’s interrupted by the bell over the door ringing and a girl charging in shouting, “ _Percy_ , oh my god, help! Leo won’t—” before she herself is cut off by another teenager charging in after her and swinging her over his shoulder.

“ _Leo Valdez_ ,” the redheaded girl shrieks, “ _put me_ down _, goddamn it!_ ”

The Latino who has taken the liberty of hoisting her on his shoulder just laughs and slaps her ass, and Luke watches as she jabs a freckled elbow into his shoulder blade, causing him to hiss and almost drop her, the motion startling shrieks from both of them as he scrambles to keep her from falling.

Percy closes his eyes and lets out a long, loud groan, before turning to face them, hands on his hips. “Leo, _for the love of god_ , put Rachel back on the floor.”

The other boy hesitates, before the mischievous smile slips off his mouth and he gingerly deposits the girl on the ground, brushing off her hips.

“Apologize,” Percy intones, scrunching his brow, and the Latino, Leo, makes a face. Percy raises a brow, and he scowls.

“ _Fine_ ,” he whines, and turns to Rachel. “I’m sorry you refused to stop teasing me about the love of my life, thus resulting in me tickling you, chasing you into a café, and slinging you over my shoulder.”

She scoffs. “Love of your life? Please. You have no life, and Calypso hates you.”

Leo gasps, then turns to face Percy, pointing at her. “Do you _see_?” he demands. “She _started it_!”

“Go wait outside with Piper and Grover,” Percy groans in response. “You’re acting like children.”

“Yes, _Mom_ ,” they chorus, both sticking their tongues out at him, and then leave the café as quickly as they’d left.

Then Percy turns back to Luke, heaving a sigh and shrugging his shoulders, almost swallowed up by his puffy coat. “I recognize that I have made poor choices in friends, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out where the hell I went so wrong.”

Luke snorts. “Tell me about it. I grew up down the street from Thalia, so we were best friends by default. Now we’re stuck together because we work together, and I’m practically related to her.”

Percy gives him a toothy smile that somehow manages to change his whole face—eyes brightening, crinkling at the corners, cheeks dimpling, nose scrunching adorably—and Luke suddenly, abruptly, realizes that Percy is _attractive_.

He smiles back at Percy and says, “What can I get for you?”

“Hot chocolate,” Percy says instantly. “With marshmallows and whipped cream. And, I need five. Mediums.”

Luke makes four of them the way Percy requested, but on one of them, he adds chocolate flakes, and scribbles his name and number on the paper cup.

 

**October 17 th, 2015**

“So,” Percy prompts. “Tea. Where is it?”

Luke steadfastly refuses to look at him, his gaze locked on the counter tops, the tile floor, the horrible orange walls he’s been meaning to paint over forever. “Cabinet. Same place it used to be.”

“And the beer?”

“Refrigerator, dumbass. Where else?”

Percy pulls a couple mugs out of the cabinet over the refrigerator even though Luke didn’t tell him where they were, and Luke is pretty sure Percy could walk around his apartment and find everything exactly where it was when they were together. He thinks, as he looks back at Percy standing in his kitchen, that the only thing that’s changed is _them_.

“In my defense,” Percy is saying, “you’ve had, like, four years to move everything. I’m surprised you haven’t.”

He gets hot water boiling on the stove in the kettle Percy’s mom had given Luke years ago, then turns and pulls a couple beers out of the refrigerator.

Luke watches him skeptically and says, “You are _not_ spiking our tea.”

Percy snorts. “Gross, no. I just…I need a beer.”

Luke arches a brow. “My ex-boyfriend turns up on my doorstep unannounced after four years of not hearing from him, not knowing what happened, what I did wrong, and _you_ need a beer?”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Percy snaps, and glares at Luke. “Just, shut up. Okay? You don’t get to make me feel bad for leaving anymore. You don’t get to leave everything where it was so you can act pissy because I know my way around your apartment, you don’t get to look at me standing here and think I’m weak for coming back to try and make things right, and you _don’t_ get to look at me like that.”

Luke levels an impassive gaze on Percy, folding his arms over his chest. “Look at you like what?”

Percy’s shoulders slump, and he pops the cap off of his beer using the scuffed up edge of Luke’s counter. “Fuck you,” he mutters. “You don’t get to look at me like you’re remembering the last time I was here.”

Luke remembers the last time Percy was in his apartment pretty goddamn well. There had been sex, and classical music, and wine, and waking up together and making breakfast together and talking about moving in together. Luke remembers every moment of that night and the morning after even through the haze of the wine, because he’d finally been signed to a record label and Percy was supposed to be with him for the rest of his life, and maybe he said a few things he shouldn’t have about marriage.

Luke says, “It’s hard not to remember the last time I saw you here, when that was the last time anything about you made any fucking sense.”

“I was only eighteen,” Percy sniffs, but his voice is soft, hurt. “I wasn’t supposed to make sense.”

“You always made sense to me,” Luke replies, and he swigs his beer as the tea kettle starts squealing. Percy has it off the stove and is pouring the hot water over the tea bags in their mugs before Luke even really registers that the kettle was hissing.

Percy doesn’t look at Luke as he maneuvers around the kitchen, putting milk and sugar in Luke’s mug, stirring it and straining the tea bag, before adding considerably more sugar to his own mug and no milk.

“Here,” he mutters, handing the mug to Luke when he’s done. “You still take sugar and milk, right?”

Luke thinks Percy probably should have asked that _before_ he made his tea, but he’s right. This is still how Luke takes it.

“So,” Luke says, sipping his tea. “You’re here to make amends, or whatever bullshit it is you’re telling yourself and me. Why’d you leave, then?”

Percy gives him a wan smile. “That night you started talking about marriage is a good place to start.”

*****

The thing about Percy Jackson is that if he’d showed up on Luke’s doorstep four years ago explaining why he left like he did and asking Luke to take him back, Luke _would have_ , in a _heartbeat_. When Luke says that they’ve changed, though, he means it.

When Luke walks into his apartment, Percy is at his kitchen table, looking tired and exhausted and a little bit pissed off, as he says, “I still have a spare key,” and slides it across the table to Luke, and that’s how Luke knows that Percy isn’t going to be asking for Luke to take him back, and what’s more, Luke doesn’t think he would if Percy _did_ ask.

They’ve both changed. After Percy finally leaves at eleven, waving off Luke’s quiet offer to drive him home, Luke picks up a legal pad and a pen, sits down on the floor, and starts writing.

 _Turns out Neverland is not what I wanted, turns out Peter Pan got lost in a moment_ , he writes, and the rest of the song blooms around those lyrics, filling in verses and a chorus, and then when Luke is done, he rips out the pages, tucks them into a thoroughly worn copy of _Peter Pan_ , and leaves them there for three weeks.

When he finally pulls them back out, he sits down with his guitar and scribbles in chords and a melody even as he changes some of the lyrics, alters the placement of others, and then when he’s done, he tucks the song back into _Peter Pan_ , and leaves it there for two days before pulling it back out. This time, he molds the song and the melody to play on the piano, and when he’s finished, he calls Annabeth and says, “I have a new song.”

Annabeth hums on the other end, the sound crackling through the phone. “Alright. You’re going to be in the studio today, so you can look over it with Chris and figure out if it’s good enough for the album, and alter whatever needs to be altered if it is.”

“Okay,” Luke says, leaning back in the rickety chair he uses to play the piano, and then he says, “Are you going to be there? In the studio?”

Annabeth snorts. “Nope. I have a lunch date. But I’ll swing by your apartment tonight so you can show me whatever it is you wrote.”

“Even if it’s not good enough for the album?” Luke asks, smiling.

“Luke,” Annabeth says, with a put-upon sigh, “would you honestly have called me if this song wasn’t an emotional rollercoaster to write?” When Luke doesn’t answer, she hums again. “That’s what I thought. I’ll see you tonight. Thai or Chinese?”

“Thai,” Luke says, but only because he knows that’s what Annabeth prefers. And at the pleased sound she makes on the other end of the line before hanging up, he knows she’s aware of that, too.

*****

That night, when Annabeth and Thalia stop by his apartment with Thai, he lets them in without a word, and waits until they’re all standing around his kitchen counter before saying without preamble, “Percy Jackson stopped by last month.”

Thalia turns stony-faced, like she always does when someone mentions Percy, but Annabeth’s mouth just tucks down into a small frown before she asks, “Why?”

Luke runs a hand through his hair. “To talk about what happened between us. And to give me back the spare key, because apparently he’s had it all these years.”

“I think what _happened_ between the two of you is pretty fucking obvious,” Thalia snaps, glaring at the counters like they’ve personally offended her. “So, what, he just shows up after four years to explain that he got scared when things got too serious and ran away?”

Luke doesn’t answer her, because he’s not—he’s not _mad_ at Percy anymore. He was, for a while, but he’s not anymore, and he’s almost relieved that he doesn’t have to carry around that anger anymore.

“So I wrote another song about him,” he says instead, and takes a few beers out of the refrigerator, passing them around. “And god knows him showing up just makes me wish he’d never left all over again, but I’m handling it. The song’s called _Hurricane_. They’re talking about making it the title track.”

Annabeth says, her voice carefully neutral, “What, we’re not just going to call the album _Awesome Mix Volume 1_?”

Luke laughs, Thalia’s face twitches in her attempt to _not snort_ , and Annabeth looks massively pleased with herself.

“Alright,” Annabeth says, reaching back to knot her hair into a ponytail before shrugging off her thick winter coat. “Go get your guitar. I want to hear newest Percy Jackson-inspired song.”

 

**November 12 th, 2016**

Tonight, they’re on the bus, making their way from Bossier City, Louisiana, to Houston, Texas, and since they’re not performing, they’re playing Truth or Dare (because despite popular belief, they actually _are_ overgrown children) and drinking cheap beer.

“Luke,” Annabeth says, leveling her sharp gaze on him. “Truth or dare?”

Last time, Luke picked Dare, and consequently stumbled his way through an acoustic rendition of _Toxic_ by Brittany Spears. This time, he says, “Truth,” and awaits whatever humiliating and/or serious question Annabeth has in store for him.

Annabeth nods slowly at his answer. “Okay. Why do you write about Neverland so often?”

Luke chokes on his beer, and Ethan pats his back lightly. When Luke can breathe again without worrying about dying, he glares at Annabeth. “You know damn well why I’ve written about Neverland in the few songs I have.”

“That’s not an answer,” Annabeth says, her voice soft, considering. “Why do you write about Neverland so often, Luke?”

Luke thinks he needs to be a little bit drunker for this conversation, but he sets his beer bottle down on the floor and meets Annabeth’s gaze. “Because five years ago, I met this asshole who helped me change lyrics I wrote when I was drunk from a Lost reference to a Peter Pan reference. And then later, when I started dating this asshole, Neverland became our ‘okay,’ like in _The Fault in Our Stars_.”

Annabeth arches a brow. “You wrote _Hurricane_ about the supposed asshole,” she says steadily. “And I’ve seen your notebooks—you’re still writing about this asshole. Even after how long without seeing each other?”

 _This is impossibly unfair_ , Luke thinks. Annabeth doesn’t get to dredge all this shit up when he’s buzzed and tired and in a crowded room full of people who _weren’t there_ , and she especially doesn’t get to avoid pronouns like it’s her secret, not Luke’s.

“That’s not part of the question,” Luke says abruptly, and stands up. He almost knocks his beer bottle over with his feet, but Ethan catches it just in time, holding it up to Luke. “I’m going to bed.”

He can hear Silena whispering something furiously to Annabeth as he makes his way back into the bedroom and climbs into his bunk, but he doesn’t hear what she says, and he’s not sure he wants to.

If Luke never has to talk about Percy Jackson ever again, it will probably still be too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been ready to post since last Sunday, but for some obnoxious reason, AO3 wouldn't let me post it until now. *sigh*
> 
> Chapter title taken from "Somewhere in Neverland" by All Time Low, because duh.
> 
> Also, kudos to those of you who caught the totally subtle Guardians of the Galaxy reference (I couldn't help myself okay).
> 
> Umm, next chapter will be posted...eventually. I haven't written it yet. Barely know where I'm going with it. It's all good, though, that's how I write. 
> 
> Check me out as vicious storm over on fanfiction.net for more of my writing, and check out my tumblr (halestorm999) if you want to cry about Luke Castellan's beautiful bitter heart with me.


	3. a stained glass variation of the truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke hates this moment, because the crowd is dead quiet and his skin is starting to crawl and he’d always thought that when he finally came out to the public, he’d do it on his own time, not because some skeeve somehow, someway, found pictures of him and Percy together.
> 
> “Yeah,” he hears himself say, “I’m just going to say it, if that’s okay? I’m gay. And the guy in the pictures that were leaked, Percy—I wrote Hurricane about him."

**December 3 rd, 2016**

The article is bad, but the pictures are the worst part, because they’re the most damning. Luke could have talked his way out of anything _but_ picture-proof. He figures that’s probably why this Kris Noss asshole found goddamn _pictures_.

Annabeth is standing over him, her arms folded across her chest, frown drawn over her features. She’s pissed, Luke thinks idly, because it’s easier than thinking about the article she just handed him.

“What,” she says, voice flat and carefully controlled, “the fuck. Is this.”

Luke lowers his gaze back to the picture. “If you’re asking me what it _is_ , I think we both know the answer to that. If you’re asking me why it’s in the goddamn tabloids… Well. I was kind of hoping _you’d_ tell _me_.”

The caption reads “HURRICANE GIRL ISN’T A GIRL AFTER ALL.” The photo shows Luke snuggled up to Percy Jackson in a selfie on the old maroon couch in Luke’s apartment, mouth to mouth.

The article itself is bad, but the fucking picture. The picture is what’s truly damning.

 

**August 18 th, 2012**

“This is ridiculous,” Luke informs Percy, even as he lets Percy settle into his lap on the shitty couch Percy helped Luke pick out back in May.

“Shh,” Percy says. “It’s my birthday. I just want to take selfies with my boyfriend without him complaining.”

“Oh, God,” Luke groans. “I feel like I’m a teenager again.”

Percy stills, and Luke wishes he could unsay that last sentence, because Percy hates it when Luke mentions their age difference.

“Luke,” Percy says, careful and soft. “Luke, I’m officially legal in like…everywhere. As of today. Not just sort of legal depending on the state.”

Luke presses a smile into Percy’s neck. “Yeah, babe, I know. Why do you think I’m agreeing to take ridiculous selfies with you?”

Percy snorts, twisting in Luke’s arm to kiss his nose. “You love that I’m no longer jailbait. Ass.”

“I love _you_ ,” Luke counters. Then, as an afterthought, “Dick.”

Percy’s face softens into a lazy grin. “I love you, too. Bitch.”

They’re laughing through their kiss, and Luke is only distantly aware of Percy holding up his phone to take a picture.

 

**December 5 th, 2016**

It’s a live television interview this time, because Annabeth thinks it’ll make Luke seem more trustworthy again, or some bullshit like that. Something about Luke having lied to the fans by saying he’s straight. Luke had asked why Taylor Swift didn’t get accused of lying to her fans all the time since she never told them _anything_ , and Annabeth had responded with nothing more than a glare. So, Luke agreed to do an exclusive, live interview with Hazel Levesque, who is apparently a friend of Annabeth’s and therefore most equipped to handle Luke’s interview.

“Let’s give a warm welcome to my guest today, Luke Castellan,” she says, all warm and sugary, creamy skin and honeyed voice, and Luke instantly likes her even though he’s inclined to hate all members of press. She turns away from the audience to look at Luke directly, still smiling. Still the same girl who came over to Luke while they were on commercial break, hugged him, and told him that she was really sorry about his relationship getting leaked and would he like a cookie because her boyfriend makes the best chocolate chip hazelnut cookies. “So, Luke. You’re in the middle of the tour for your third studio album, Hurricane, correct?”

“Correct,” Luke agrees. “It started in early October, and it’ll finish off in January.”

Hazel nods. “You know I have to ask about the rumors circulating around the title track, _Hurricane_. Especially now with the photos that were leaked on December second.”

Luke tries not to grimace too noticeably, instead forcing a smile and an awkward laugh. “Yeah, I figured.”

Hazel laughs a little, too. “The song was already controversial, given the suggestion in the lyrics that the subject of the song was a minor. Now, it looks like the subject of _Hurricane_ , regardless of whether or not they were a minor, was actually male, instead of female. Is that correct?”

Luke hates this moment, because the crowd is dead quiet and his skin is starting to crawl and he’d always thought that when he finally came out to the public, he’d do it on his own time, not because some skeeve somehow, someway, found pictures of him and Percy together.

“Yeah,” he hears himself say, “I’m just going to say it, if that’s okay? I’m gay. And the guy in the pictures that were leaked, Percy—I wrote _Hurricane_ about him, and most of Achilles Heel was about him, and there were a couple songs on Afterlife about him, too.”

Hazel nods again. The look she gives him is just the amused side of sympathetic, perfect for the cameras. “This is the first confirmed relationship in your history. Is that because of your sexuality?”

Luke snorts. “No, it’s because my relationship with Percy was the only long-term relationship I’ve ever had. Which I guess is why everyone just assumed he’s the guy I’ve been writing about for ages?”

A smattering of laughter goes up through the audience. Hazel ducks her head while her lips quirk into a grin.

“How long were you together?” she asks.

That’s a tough question, Luke thinks, because he and Percy were always sort of together, even when they weren’t _together_. “About five months, I guess,” he says. He doesn’t mention the months where it was just sex.

Hazel laughs and says, “Your definition of long-term is pretty different from mine. What about the rumors about him being a minor when you started dating?”

“We started dating a couple weeks before he turned eighteen,” Luke says, and he’s not lying, because they _weren’t_ officially dating until August. They were just exclusively hooking up and completely in love with each other while oblivious to the other’s feelings. “So, technically, yeah. The rumors are true, too.”

“Why’d you break up?” Hazel asks. She’s still smiling pleasantly, but that’s the last question Luke wants to answer and it’s like he’s dying on stage in front of three hundred people plus the millions of people watching on TV but he’s still trying to grin through it.

“I don’t know,” he says, honestly, the raw confusion in his voice palpable to his own ears. “It’s been almost four years, and I still don’t know.”

Hazel isn’t smiling anymore. Luke doesn’t think he is, either.

 

**November 23 rd, 2016**

It’s Thanksgiving break, and Percy is back in New York.

Not that Percy actually took off work to visit. More like, he took work with him.

“I thought I told you you’re not allowed to work on Thanksgiving,” Sally says when she walks into his room (still decorated the same way it was before Percy moved out) and finds him at his laptop, playing the same video recording over and over again looking for places to cut and edit.

“Technically,” Percy says, not looking away from the video to meet her eyes, “it’s not Thanksgiving yet.”

She heaves a sigh, walking over to pick up his video camera, fiddling with some of the buttons. “You need to relax,” she says, and she sounds tired all of a sudden, as tired as Percy usually feels. “You’re going to overwork yourself if you keep this up.”

“Mom,” Percy groans, rolling his eyes. “I sit at my computer all day watching the same ocean documentaries over and over again, looking for flaws. And then I sometimes get to call celebrities to schedule a time for them to read the script to overlay the video, and then sometimes there are meetings and boring things like that, and once I was invited to a red carpet event because the company I work for was nominated for one of their documentaries. But I didn’t actually get to go, because I was in the hospital having my lungs drained of fluid. I’m pretty sure the chances of me _overworking myself_ are slim.”

Sally doesn’t say anything for a long, tense moment, so Percy refocuses his attention on the fish swimming around on screen. He’s about to apologize, because he’s out of line and he knows she’s just worried about him, when she speaks again.

“Why don’t you take pictures anymore?” she asks quietly, and Percy stills, rolls his thumb over the mouse on the computer, pausing the video and turning to stare at his mother. “You used to love photography.”

 _Luke used to love_ me, Percy wants to say, _but people change their minds all the time_.

 

**December 6 th, 2016**

Percy can’t breathe. He literally can’t catch his breath, he’s trapped in his car in an underground parking lot, and the fucking paparazzi are surrounding his car.

Fuck you, Kris, he thinks.

His hands are shaking because he just had to _run_ and he’s not supposed to fucking _run_ , he can’t call anyone because he’s under-fucking-ground and he doesn’t have service, and his oxygen tank is suddenly doing a really shitty job of keeping him oxygenated.

“I’m just,” he pants, “a kid,” still panting, “with lung cancer.” Pause. Struggle for breath. “I don’t even,” panting, “have enough,” still panting, “breath.” Pause. Struggle for breath. “To tell the,” pant, “paparazzi,” pant, “to fuck,” pant, “off.” Pause.

Pant, pause, struggle for breath. Percy’s life.

His fingers are still shaking where they’re gripping the leg of his jeans and his head is swimming, his vision dimming around the edges, and he’s just _waiting_ , because he can’t drive when he’s like this and he just fucking walked out of the goddamn hospital so he shouldn’t need to go back right now but goddamn it, he fucking _does_ , because he had to go and fucking run from the fucking paparazzi and he. Can’t. Breathe.

“Fuck you, Kris,” he says aloud, raspy and hoarse. He leans over his steering wheel and squeezes his eyes shut, fingers grasping the wheel like somehow it’s going to ground him.

It’s possible he’s going to die like this, he realizes. Stuck in his car, unable to breathe and unable to go anywhere, surrounded by paparazzi. All because his ex-boyfriend had to start stalking him, find old pictures of Percy and Luke together, and then go and fucking release them to the press as some sick form of revenge.

Percy makes a mental note to haunt Kris, if he dies. Haunt him until Kris goes crazy. Then he passes out and slumps over the steering wheel.

****

**December 9 th, 2016**

Luke is supposed to be playing Madison Square Garden in forty-five minutes, and all he can think about is the fact that Percy has been checked into some hospital in California for three days because the paparazzi bombarded him the day after Luke’s interview.

Annabeth pulled him aside that morning to tell him, quietly admitting that she was also going to be running interference with the press and tabloid, keeping Percy out of the spotlight and doing whatever she could to make things easier for him. “Percy’s my best friend,” she’d said. “Of course I’m going to help him.”

Luke had known, abstractly, that Annabeth and Percy had grown close while Luke and Percy were dating. He just hadn’t realized that after he and Percy had broken up, Annabeth had kept in touch with Percy. Probably because Annabeth had told him, specifically, that she hadn’t.

“Are you flying out to see Percy?” Luke asks now, watching Annabeth has she furiously types something into her phone. She spares him a brief glance and a short, jerky nod.

Luke chews his bottom lip, thinking about it. Glancing towards the stage where Silena and the Traitors are running the stage, whipping the audience into an excited frenzy.

“Tell him I hope he’s okay,” he hears himself saying. He keeps his gaze on the stage even as he feels himself receive Annabeth’s undivided attention, her sharp eyes narrowing in on the side of his face. “I’d visit him in the hospital, if I didn’t have the tour. And if I didn’t think that would be a bad idea.”

“Okay,” Annabeth agrees. Luke glances back at her and she’s still studying him, an unreadable look on her face.

“Take care of him,” Luke says finally. “With the press and stuff.”

Annabeth’s gaze is unwavering. “Okay,” she says again. “Are you sure you don’t want to come see him?”

“I have the tour,” Luke says, shrugging. It’s a pitiful excuse to his own ears, but he doesn’t have the right to go see Percy anymore. And he’s not sure how that happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written a very long time ago, but I only recently got a laptop that would let me post to AO3, which is why it's taken so long to post this chapter. I’m so sorry. On the bright side, actual plot things happen in this chapter! And you get a little bit of Percy’s POV!
> 
> Chapter title from Neptune by Sleeping at Last.


	4. memories of dying days that deafen us like hurricanes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was Annabeth’s idea, to visit Percy, but it wasn’t a bad one. Percy… God. Luke hates him a little bit, but he owes him this, now that the entire world knows he’s Luke’s ex-boyfriend. Now that Percy’s being followed by paparazzi because there are damning pictures of him and Luke.
> 
> Besides, Luke thinks. We’re kind of unfinished business.
> 
> They have been for a long time.

**December 4 th, 2011**

Because he’s Percy, Percy doesn’t realize the cute barista’s number is on the side of his cup until he spills hot chocolate all over his hands and pants, smearing the blue ink down the side of his paper coffee cup.

“Fuck,” he says when he does realize, looking at the blurry name— _Luke—_ and the unreadable phone number, _682-55….._ “Fuck,” he says again.

Rachel snorts. “Calm down, Perce, it’s just hot chocolate. Here.” She reaches over to pat his lap with a napkin, and it should be weird to have her hands all over his crotch, but it’s not.

He scowls. “No, no, he gave me his phone number and I lost it to the hot chocolate!”

“Who did?” Grover asks, glancing over. He’s been on his phone all day, talking to some girl he met at a protest the other night. Juniper, or something. Percy thinks this might be the first time he’s had Grover’s full attention all day, and he’s pretty sure it’s only because Grover can’t text on the subway.

“Luke!” Percy exclaims. “The cute barista! We talked about Neverland and Lost Boys and song lyrics and my mom. But I spilled hot chocolate and now I can’t make out his phone number.”

“Oh,” Rachel hums, “he was cute.”

“Oh, honey,” Piper says, shaking her head slowly. “You talked about your mom with him?” She clucks her disapproval, and Percy makes a face at her.

“You can always go back to the coffee shop tomorrow to get his number again,” Leo says with a roll of his eyes, like it’s the most logical thing in the world.

Piper smacks him on the arm. “He can’t go back and ask for the guy’s number,” she scolds. “It shows that he lost it in the first place, and nobody wants to date a guy who lost your phone number ten minutes after you gave it to him.”

“That’s settled, then,” Percy groans. “I can never go back to Trident Café. And this was like, the _best_ hot chocolate.”

“I’ve had better,” Rachel muses.

“Or Brooklyn,” Percy decides. “I can never go back to Trident Café _or_ Brooklyn in general.”

 

**December 14 th, 2011**

The fight was totally not Percy’s fault. At all. In any way. Whatsoever.

His mom is still going to kill him.

Nico di Angelo is sitting across from him, at the other end of the waiting room, sporting a busted lip and the faint beginnings of a black eye. He’s hunched low in his seat, his oversized aviator jacket pulled tight around him, and every time Percy accidentally makes eye contact, Nico sneers at him, even though his split lip causes him obvious pain to do so.

Sitting next to Percy is Jason Grace, with blood on his letterman jacket and the thighs of his blue jeans. His head is tilted back so his blue eyes are locked on the ceiling, and he’s holding a wad of napkins to his nose, which Percy thinks might actually be broken. It’s bleeding a lot, in any case.

Percy doesn’t have a scratch on him. He’s not breathing so well right now, though, and he’s kind of starting to miss his oxygen tank. Not that it used to help much, anyways. Stupid fucking useless excuse for lungs.

The door to the principal’s office creaks open, and Percy sits up a little bit straighter, wincing as he makes eye contact with Principal Blofis. Percy likes Paul and all, but it’s weird to get reprimanded by his stepdad at school. He kind of gets the feeling there’s going to be a lot of reprimanding going on as Paul ushers the three of them into his office.

“You okay, Percy?” Paul asks lowly as Percy shuffles past him, following after Jason and Nico.

Percy grimaces. “Peachy,” he chirps, or tries to, anyways. It comes out a little raspy. “It’s a little hard to breathe,” he admits.

Paul’s frown deepens, and as Percy takes a seat in his office, he pretends he doesn’t hear Paul telling the secretary to bring him some water.

“So,” Paul says, settling into his chair, staring the three of them down. “Who wants to tell me what happened?”

Silence. Then, Jason Grace sits up straighter in his seat, and says, voice nasally from where he’s pinched it shut with napkins to stop the blood flow, “Nico was harassing Percy, Sir.”

Percy winces. It’s not like he can’t handle himself against the sharp, barbed words from a sophomore. He really _didn’t_ need Jason to swoop in like his saving grace or something.

Percy snorts quietly to himself. Ha. Saving _Grace_.

“Harassing how?” Paul asks, the picture of calm, even though Percy can tell that he’s getting protective. Paul’s been hanging around just long enough that he’s starting to feel like a permanent fixture in Percy’s life, like he’s actually family now. Percy thinks Paul feels the same way.

“He suggested that Percy would be better off if he ‘wasn’t breathing,’” Jason says, eyes flashing dangerously around the napkins he has pressed to his face. Percy and Jason have a weird relationship, considering that they hooked up once, the summer before Percy started attending Goode, and that Jason is Piper’s ex-boyfriend, but they’re all friends. Well, sort of. Percy and Piper are the best of friends, but Jason doesn’t hang around that often. He just swoops in and beats up fifteen year olds who probably have more emotional issues than Percy does.

Percy cuts a glance at Nico. They’re definitely not friends, but Nico… Nico lived in Percy’s apartment building for a couple months, back when Percy was a sophomore. Nico knew Percy when he still had lung cancer, and Nico is the _only_ one at Goode who knows. And Percy knows the reason Nico has a black eye has nothing to do with his fight with Jason, because Percy’s actually met Nico’s old man.

So Nico is morbid and doesn’t really talk to Percy unless Percy gets in his way, like he did this morning when Percy was struggling to breathe in the stairwell and Nico came running down the steps and slammed into him. But they know each other’s secrets, and Nico might have a mean right hook, evidenced by Jason’s potentially-broken nose, but Nico has never hit Percy. They kind of protect each other, in a weird way. Even if they don’t like each other, they make sure no one else knows their secrets.

“And you thought violence was an appropriate reaction on Percy’s behalf?” Paul asks Jason, arching a brow, and Jason’s lips purse, his cheeks reddening as he glances down at his lap in shame.

Before anyone says anything else, there’s a sharp rap on the door, and it opens to reveal the secretary, Mrs. Dodds, glaring at them. “There’s a man here for Grace,” she says, jerking her chin towards Jason. “Says he’s here in place of Grace’s sister.”

Paul glances at Jason. “Mr. Castellan?” he asks, and Jason nods.

“Probably,” he sighs. “Thalia’s got classes all day. She would have sent Luke in her place.” He shrugs, and Paul nods to Mrs. Dodds, motioning for her to let the man in.

If Percy wasn’t already having a hard time breathing, he would be once this “Mr. Castellan” dude walked into the room.

Tall, blond, and muscular. Blue eyes, and a scar along the side of his cheek, scratching a line in the perfect stubble on his perfect jaw. Decked out in ripped skinny jeans, ratty sneakers, an All Time Low t-shirt, a blue scarf and a gray pea coat, car keys swinging from long, calloused fingers. The barista from Trident Café. The hot one, who gave Percy his number. Which Percy promptly lost when he spilled hot cocoa down the side of his Styrofoam cup.

“Mr. Blofis,” the barista greets Paul, settling his hands on Jason’s shoulders. Jason looks up at each other and they glare silently at each other for a moment, before the barista sighs, shakes his head, and looks back at Paul. “It’s my understanding that Jason was in some kind of fight?”

Paul sighs and nods. “It sounds like Jason attacked Nico in Percy’s defense,” he says, gesturing between the three boys. In doing so, he draws the barista’s attention to Percy.

The barista gives him a slow once over, eyebrow arching slightly, and then his cheeks flush underneath all of that delicious stubble and he turns back to Paul.

“So what’s the verdict?” he asks. “Detention? Suspension?”

Paul sighs and rubs his hands over his face, glancing at Percy. “What about you?” he asks him. “I suppose you’re innocent in all of this?”

He’s joking. Lips curled up at the corners, amusement coloring his voice, shaking his head at Percy.

“I’ll have you know,” Percy says, sitting up straight in his chair and leaning forward, “that I did _nothing_ to provoke any kind of violence whatsoever. I was just minding my own business, hanging out in the stairwell, when Nico bumped into me. He starts yelling, Jason shows up out of the blue and tackles him, and I just stood there trying to catch my breath.”

Paul gives him a considering look. “And I guess your lack of breath has something to do with the cigarette smoke I can smell on you from here?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Percy _knew_ the fucking cigarettes were a bad idea. He was just _curious_ , okay. He was diagnosed with lung cancer when he was twelve. It’s not like he’d ever had the chance to find out what smoking was like. And he hadn’t thought he ever would.

“It might,” Percy concedes hesitantly. Nico glares at him, and that’s the _other_ part of the story. The one neither he nor Nico is going to acknowledge. Sure, Nico ran into Percy on the stairwell because Percy was standing there regretting his decision to try smoking. But Nico wasn’t pissed because Percy was in his way. Nico was pissed because Percy was smoking, and Percy had fucking _lung cancer_ , and he’s only been in recovery since May. Eight months. And Percy was smoking in a school stairwell like an idiot, and if Nico demanded to know _what the fuck_ Percy was thinking and snapped that maybe Percy was _better off not fucking breathing on your own, you stupid fucking asshole, trying to get yourself fucking killed, you fucking idiot_.

But they’re not going to tell Paul that. Or Jason. Or the hot barista who’s currently eyeing Percy with both amusement and recognition.

Yeah, Percy and Nico… They’re just not going to talk about it. Ever.

“Detention for the rest of the week,” Paul decides, shaking his head at the three of them. “Take the rest of the day off,” he adds, glancing over them all. “You could all use it.”

Nico is the first one out of the door, bolting as soon as he’s dismissed, and Percy follows Jason and the barista out after assuring Paul that he doesn’t need a ride home, that he’s fine, he’ll just take the subway.

“Thalia’s pissed,” the barista tells Jason as they push out of the school building, onto the crowded sidewalk. “And _I’m_ kind of pissed, honestly. I had to cut band practice short to come get you.”

“I don’t know why they called you,” Jason grumbles. “Percy’s parents weren’t called. And they called Nico’s, but nobody showed up for him.”

“Nico’s dad is a dick,” Percy hears himself say. “And he doesn’t have any other family.” He shrugs. “And Paul didn’t call my mom because he’s my stepdad, so he’ll just tell her over dinner tonight, anyways.”

He rolls his eyes. He’s going to be so fucked. His mom is going to cry because he was smoking and then _he’ll_ probably cry and Paul will fold his arms over his chest and give Percy a Disappointed Father look, even though he’s not actually Percy’s father, and suggest that they reschedule his next check-up so that they can take him in sooner. It’s going to suck.

“Mr. Blofis is your stepdad?” Jason asks, surprised, and Percy snorts.

“Yeah. It makes parent-teacher conferences really fun.” He rolls his eyes, then glances at the barista again, who’s watching him with his lips curled into a loose smirk, head cocked to the side, eyes framed by surprisingly dark lashes, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Um,” Percy says, because he’s not used to being watched like _that_ , like he’s desirable or whatever. Jason was the first and last person Percy has ever slept with, and with Jason, it was different, because there wasn’t any smoldering eye-fucking going on. There was a lot of laughing, actually. It was nice. Jason was gentle.

“Um,” repeats the barista, smirking. Percy flushes.

“You work at Trident Café, right?” he blurts out, and wishes he could take it back, but he can’t, so he keeps going. “I was in there last week. Um, you were writing song lyrics? With that girl. And you made a Lost reference but I suggested you turn it into a Peter Pan thing? And then you gave me your phone number, but I, uh, lost it. I spilled hot cocoa down the side of my cup on the subway and the numbers smeared. So.”

Percy coughs, and he’s thankful for it, because it means he can stop rambling now. The barista just keeps smirking at him.

“I didn’t realize you were in high school,” he drawls. “I’m Luke, by the way.”

“Luke,” Percy repeats, and nods. “I’m Percy. And, yeah, I’m seventeen. Which is totally legal in New York, but…yeah, I’m still in high school.” His cheeks are on fire. Did he just proposition Luke for sex? Oh God, Percy thinks. If you’re going to take me, now would be the perfect time.

Luke laughs. “You’re cute,” he says, and Jason makes a gagging noise at his side and punches Luke on the arm.

“I’m going to get a taxi,” he says loudly. “And you can stay here and hit on my classmate while I do that.”

He walks away, towards the end of the sidewalk, and Luke takes a step closer to Percy. “My band is playing at Dion’s Vineyard on Saturday,” he says quietly. “It’d be cool if you wanted to come watch. We could meet up afterwards.”

“Like, for sex?” Percy clarifies, because he might have only had sex once, but he’s _never_ been on a date, and he’s not sure he could handle that. Especially not with an older guy who pretty much embodies sex.

Luke rolls his eyes. “Sure,” he says, snorting. “For sex.”

 

**January 9 th, 2017**

The apartment building is cute, and Luke thinks the inside is probably even cuter. He’ll find out as soon as he builds up the courage to knock.

It was Annabeth’s idea, to visit Percy, but it wasn’t a bad one. Percy… God. Luke hates him a little bit, but he owes him this, now that the entire world knows he’s Luke’s ex-boyfriend. Now that Percy’s being followed by paparazzi because there are damning pictures of him and Luke.

Besides, Luke thinks. We’re kind of unfinished business.

They have been for a long time.

Luke takes a deep, steeling breath, gathering his courage, and he lifts his hand and knocks on the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Savior by Rise Against.

**Author's Note:**

> "You're the finest thing that I've done, hurricane I'll never outrun" are lyrics from the song Hurricane by The Hush Sound, and I know I have officially jacked their song title, but I regret nothing.
> 
> I have no idea how long this fic is going to be, but I have a general outline, so we'll see. I'll make updates when I can, which may not be very often because I'm a busy high school student, and if any of you have read my Jason/Percy fic Holy Ground over on fanfiction.net, you know exactly how bad I am at uploading regularly. If you have read it, you know what you're in for. If you haven't, I apologize up front.


End file.
